


show me no mercy

by aelins



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic Intelligence, Alternative Universe - FBI, Azriel is a BAMF, Gun Violence, Gun running, Human Rhysand (ACoTaR), M/M, POV Alternating, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR), POV Tamlin (ACoTaR), Rhysand Needs a HUg, Sad Rhysand (ACoTaR), Slow Burn, Tamlin needs one too, all aboard the pain train, the snark is strong in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelins/pseuds/aelins
Summary: After a busted up attempt to catch the Hybern motorcycle club in the act of gun-running, it appears Tamlin and Rhysand will both be made miserable. Possibly a demotion, possibly more than that, they could lose their jobs, their livelihoods for this one mistake which was unpreventable.A woman named Ianthe approaches Rhysand and confesses to running the Hybern crime syndicate.She has so many secrets, and so many lies Rhysand can't tell where one begins and the other ends.All he knows is that if he has to get through these difficult and dark times with merely Tamlin's snarky comments he'll burn the world to the ground.
Relationships: Rhysand/Tamlin (ACoTaR)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	show me no mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Your trash scion is here!

The door is kicked down with force. On the other end stands a man with shoulder-length blonde hair, and a body built like a running back. Everything about him stands in stark relief to the other man, standing behind him, brandishing a standard-issue, FBI rifle. 

They are opposite sides of the same coin. An inverse picture, if you will. 

They communicate with hand signals and navigate through the motorcycle club’s base of operations. There are  _ hundreds of guns _ . If not thousands. And women in cages. Something about this last fact makes Rhysand’s blood boil. He does not know where these women end and he begins. 

Tamlin grips his shoulder, “I’m going to go find Hybern,” and just like that the lights are flicked on, and the King of the Hybern motorcycle club is shotting at them. 

It’s dumb as fuck, and not something Rhysand would ever have suspected of Tamlin, but he’s  _ noble _ and takes the bullet to the shoulder. Rhysand, however, has the sense to return fire. 

The King, as he was called, gets struck in the hand, and being the harbinger of doom he is, flees to fight another day. 

Rhysand kicks a crate, and the lid pops open. About a dozen AK’s are inside it. 

Tamlin gets off the floor, and they call for back up. 

Rhysand goes outside for a smoke, it’s a nasty habit he’d picked up at Quantico five years ago. He mostly hid it and only did it when he thought he might burst with anger. His warm brown skin is warmed by the winter sun. It was always winter in New York. There was never any sun. 

Kind of like today, he hadn’t felt a shed of happiness in months, and when he thought he might put the Hybern business behind him—he couldn’t. He never could put anything to do with Amarantha behind him, it seemed to regurgitate in his life. 

A perpetual cycle of hurt. 

Tamlin sticks his head outside, “At least we got the guns.” 

“They might be booby-trapped.” 

Tamlin quirks a light brow, “Oh? So that’s why you kicked the box? Testing it for me?” 

Tamlin was holding his bloody shoulder in his hand, trying to staunch the bleeding. Rhysand pulled a packet of Quik-Clot from his back pocket, and Tamlin stood still for a long moment while Rhysand administered it. 

A hiss of pain, the sizzle of chemically cauterized flesh, it was all sounds they were familiar with, intimately so. 

Back up arrives without incident, and the Directors of both the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives and the Federal Bureau of Investigations are standing around, giving orders. Rhysand watched as female Agents helped the sex-trafficked women to ambulances. He hoped they would have choices about their treatment, about their lives, since their choices had been so thoroughly taken away. 

He wished he’d had choices too. 

But he  _ had _ . He’d been young and stupid and in love. And love could just as easily carry one out to dark waters just as quickly as rage, or hate. 

He just thought it was ironic, in a very unfunny way. 

Tamlin and Rhysand both get coffee and hot chocolate, respectively, for themselves. It’s a cold morning, but a bright one. 

“Would you two fellas like to tell me what you did to scare him off? Why weren’t false promises of deals and immunity floated?” 

Lucien Vanserra was a tiring man, though Rhysand secretly thought he was quite handsome. 

And his counterpart? The infamous Azriel Hadad was significantly more intense and proportionately handsome. Azriel was standing with his hands tucked into his suit pockets, looking dispassionately at Rhysand. 

“You had orders,” Azriel pipes up. 

Rhysand is not used to being barked at, however quietly by his best friend. 

“We did, but as soon as he saw our faces, he knew we weren’t with the gang. He knew, and he will always know.” 

Azriel, in an uncharacteristic display of lack of control, kicked one of the empty cages. 

“They have Mor,” Azriel says and jogs away to the situation room. 

Rhysand’s shoulders slump and Tamlin walks away. 

People always run away from Rhysand, they flee his life with a speed and efficacy that is terrifying. 

  
_ Morrigan _ . His cousin, the only part of his past that wasn’t lost to the haze of trauma. 


End file.
